


with my skin and bone, let me be your home

by imfallingforyoureyes102



Series: On the Outside Looking In [17]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cuddling, Delicity, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak, F/M, Felicity Smoak Wump, Hurt Felicity Smoak, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Protective John Diggle, Protective Oliver Queen, Protective Quentin Lance, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, gunshot wound, on the outside looking in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:07:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24696547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imfallingforyoureyes102/pseuds/imfallingforyoureyes102
Summary: Oliver’s wrapped himself entirely around Felicity, almost as if he’s using his body as a shield.Lance pauses at the thought, his gaze scanning over the hospital bed and their tangled limbs. He takes in the way Oliver’s hand is pressed directly over her heart and the way he has the back of her head cradled almost reverently in his other arm as he keeps it tucked securely beneath his chin.There's not one inch of Felicity Smoak that is vulnerable, and Lance knows down to his very core that that’sexactlywhat Oliver Queen had intended to accomplish.(Or, pt 2 of Let it Be Me in which Detective Lance stumbles into the hospital under the impression that he’s taking the statement of a gunshot wound victim only to find out that it’s his friend - his sweet and bubbly Felicity - that’s hooked up to the many beeping machines. Lance is pissed - at the SCPD for not telling him, at the Hood for not answering his calls, at Oliver Queen foreverything- but then he’s standing in the hospital room and figuring out that the Ollie that boarded the Gambit is a far cry from the Oliver wrapped protectively around one Miss Smoak).
Relationships: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak
Series: On the Outside Looking In [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1319063
Comments: 88
Kudos: 525





	with my skin and bone, let me be your home

**Author's Note:**

> First things first: if there is one thing you take away from this, _please_ let it be this.  
> Black lives _fucking_ matter. They mattered in the past, the matter in the present, and they will continue to matter in every future, universe, and parallel dimension. I know many people have already done many things to contribute, but every little thing counts. (EVERY little thing). Whether it be signing petitions, donating, or educating the people around you who continue to idealize a false perception about race, superiority, and what constitutes a decent human being, it all counts. 
> 
> And that includes everyone! As someone who is South Asian and born and raised in the US, I continue to realize how privaleged I've been AND how so many parts of South Asia continue to uphold sick, twisted, disgusting views on race that are taught generation after generation and badgered into something that is believed to be true when it is (and I promise you) a thousand % NOT true. What makes it worse is that many of the individuals that are upholding them are literally! brown! All types of brown! Educate your friends, educate your family, educate yourself! (Sorry for this little South Asian centered rant, I definitely don't mean to target anyone at all, I'm just speaking about personal experiences with family friends when visiting overseas).
> 
> If you want more info, please please please check out this link (or google for info!):  
> <https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/>
> 
> Let's change the world, my dudes. It's a good damn time to start. (Also, check out the Equal Justice Initiative! If you follow me on Twitter, I have some info about that :))
> 
> * * *
> 
> Finally! Detective Lance is making an appearance!!
> 
> This was very random and came to me when I so totally did not have time for it (literally while I was in the middle of working a virtual summer camp) so I whipped this bad boy out instead of ~studying~ which is dumb dumb dumb, but I hope you enjoy it! (It's a Part 2 to _Let it Be Me_ with Tommy being the outsider looking in).
> 
> Here's the link to part one: [let it be me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22781575)

Quentin Lance hates hospitals. 

They’re eerie, hollow, sterile little things and every time he’s in one, it’s always for the wrong reasons. 

The last time he’d been in a hospital and actually been happy about it was when he’d had a newborn baby Sara swaddled tightly in his arms and - ,

Lance swallows hard, shaking the memory from his mind before tightening his grip on Laurel’s arm and steering her towards the elevators. 

“Dad,” Laurel sighs. “I’m not going to fall over, you know that right?”

“You have a concussion, Laurel,” Quentin gruffs out as he turns to face his daughter with a raised eyebrow. “And a whole arm in a sling.”

“As opposed to half an arm,” Laurel mutters, her eyes already rolling at her father’s scowl. “They told me I had a concussion _two days ago_ . I’m fine now, the only reason I’m going to this checkup is because _you_ won’t leave me alone until a trained professional tells you how amazingly fine I am.”

“Is it too much to want you to be safe and healthy?” Quentin asks, leveling Laurel with his best _listen to me, I’m your father_ look, and she gives him a tight lipped grin.

The elevator doors ding open and the small smile that Lance had felt pulling onto his face vanishes when he sees Tommy Merlyn waiting near the front desk. 

“Are you serious,” Laurel whispers at her father. “Tommy? You don’t trust me to go to my own appointment so you call _Tommy?_ ”

Despite Laurel’s words she smiles gratefully when the dark haired man finds his way over to them, leaning into him as he presses a quick kiss against her hair.

“Trust me,” Lance growls. “This is a new experience for all of us.”

Laurel stares at her father with a humorless expression, and Lance puts his hands up in mock surrender. They all follow a nurse to an empty room, and Laurel hops up on the table as she answers the questions that are listed off.

The Detective turns to Tommy, and while he wants to pull his leg a little more, he can’t help but feel eternally thankful to the man that had kept his Laurel safe. 

“I know I always give you shit, Merlyn,” Lance huffs out. “But thank you for being here for my girl. I - I appreciate it. Really.”

Tommy grins lightly at Lance, but his eyes tighten in a way that lets Quentin know just how serious Tommy is about Laurel. 

“More than what we can say for Queen,” Lance continues, muttering more to himself than anyone else. “So much for him insistin’ he wanted to be a better friend to the two of you.”

“He hasn’t been in the best place, Detective,” Tommy offers. “He’s - he had a friend that was badly hurt.” 

Quentin looks up at that, and he’s slightly taken aback by the distant look on Tommy’s face. He heaves out a sigh. 

He feels bad for Queen, sure. He wouldn’t wish harm on anyone’s loved ones. But then he’s glancing up at his baby girl and she’s giving him a small smile but then he sees the ugly bruise trailing along her forehead and the sling her arm is in makes his insides twist.

He shakes his head, trying to clear it, before stepping forward and giving Laurel a quick peck on her head.

“Tommy’ll stay here with you, Laurel. _Please_ don’t leave until I can talk to the Doctor,” he stares at her with a firm look. “I beggin’ you, Sweetheart. Stay put.”

“Where are you going?”

“I have to go take a statement real quick – gunshot wound or something from a few days ago. She’s apparently finally coherent.” 

Quentin misses the way Tommy’s eyes widen as he slips out of the room and soon enough, he’s three floors up and asking the nearest nurse exactly who he’s supposed to be interviewing.

“Miss Felicity Smoak, gunshot wound, Room 578,” she offers cheerily, her hand pointing down the hall behind him. 

Quentin feels like he’s losing his breath for the second time that week and for a minute he’s frozen in his spot because that’s one of the few names on his list that he had prayed and prayed and prayed he would _never_ hear in the same realm, let alone sentence, as _gunshot wound._

Lance blinks back to the present when the nurse places a concerned hand on his wrist, but he’s stumbling backwards down the hall with hurried footsteps. 

His phone is up and pressed to his ear in seconds, and it’s a threatening snarl that meets whoever’s on the other end of the line at the precinct.

“Get me Captain Pike, _now._ ”

Quentin paces up and down the small stretch of the hallway, white hot rage firing through him. He knows he shouldn’t be talking to his Captain like this but then he remembers it’s _Felicity_ and _god_ , he’s livid. 

It’s a slew of “why the _hell_ didn’t I hear about this” and “no, I don’t want any damn excuses, Miss Smoak’s been a vital asset to our department this past year,” that he rattles off into the phone. 

“I don’t _care_ , she’s my damn daugh -,” Quentin pulls in a sharp breath. “ _Friend._ She’s a good friend, Pike, I should’a been notified and you and I both know that’s true.”

Lance slams his finger against the _end call_ button, his breaths coming out irregular and raggad as he stares at a stupid picture of a goldfish in a bowl hanging on the wall. 

He should have been notified. _He should have been there._

Felicity Smoak’s as good as his daughter and he knows that. How could he not? She’s bright and cheerful and talks too much for her own good and always calls him every Friday night to ask him what vegetables he’d eaten that week because _I worry about you, Detective, and I know that if I didn’t have someone reminding me to eat my vegetables I_ definitely _wouldn’t._

It’s the echo of their last conversation that has Lance crouching over and pulling in deep, steadying breaths. 

Sweet, fiery, talkative Felicity. 

_God_ , the poor girl. 

The thought of her injured and scared stabs a wound straight down Lance’s chest and it _hurts_ that he wasn’t there for someone who had forcefully waltzed her way into his life and decided him fit enough to be her pseudo-father. 

Lance prays with everything in him that she had _had_ at least _someone_ with her. A mother, a sibling, _anyone._

He straightens at that thought, his hand already pulling at his phone again and speed dialing the mutual friend that had brought Felicity into his life in the first place. 

Lance goes rigid when the call continues past the second ring, and he sags against the wall after the ringing continues for more than a minute. No one answers him the second time, or the third, and it’s _weird_ , he thinks, because every time he’s used the phone before, the Hood’s picked up within the first ring. 

For a second he wonders if Felicity’s injury is vigilante related, and fire courses through him at the thought. 

He vows, then, that Felicity will either never be involved with anything like that ever again or, if she refuses that notion (and he knows she will, she’s never taken lightly to anyone telling her what to do and that’s something that he’s proudest of her for), then he vows that she will never be involved with anything like that ever again _unless_ she agrees to always always always wear a bulletproof vest and at least three layers of bubble wrap.

Lance pushes himself from the wall and shoves his phone back into his pocket. He shakes his head, anger at himself flaring in his veins when he realizes that he’d been too focused on trying to figure out _how_ to avenge Felicity than actually checking on the poor girl first. 

He starts down the hallway with a huff. 

Lance stops short as he turns the corner and see’s John Diggle slipping out of a room at the end of the hall.

He squints. _Room 578._

A mixture of relief and irritation wells up within him when he sees Mr. Diggle sink down into a chair positioned outside of Felicity’s room, his face dropping wearily into his hands. 

Lance knows Mr. Diggle and Felicity work for Oliver Queen - knows that because of the time they spend together, the retired soldier and Felicity have become close friends. But it’s not often that anyone really sees Diggle and Felicity without Oliver - rarely a time when there is one without the other two nearby. 

Lance doesn’t know if he wants to throttle Queen for not being there for someone he had adamantly called his friend, or thank him for keeping his bad luck to himself and staying the hell away. 

He buries the thought, instead focusing on keeping his head on straight.

_God, he hates hospitals._

Lance quickens his pace as he nears the room, and Diggle’s eyes snap up, his body going rigid before he rises swiftly from his chair. His hand moves to palm the gun that’s strapped tightly to his waist. And it takes a second – perhaps too many seconds, Lance thinks - for Queen’s bodyguard to realize who he is. 

Detective Lance narrows his eyes at the way Mr. Diggle stands in a combative position, his muscles tense and ten times ready to knock someone out. It’s not until the older man moves closer that he sees the dark bruises beneath the Diggle’s eyes – that he sees the weariness and fatigue etched into every line on his face. 

At Lance’s arched eyebrow, Mr. Diggle takes his hand off his gun, but he makes no move to shift away from his position blocking the entrance of the door.

“Detective,” Mr. Diggle acknowledges, his voice low and vaguely threatening.

It’s then Lance realizes just how dangerous John Diggle can be. 

It’s also then that Lance reassesses the relationship between Diggle and Felicity, because where he once thought that they were just good friends, he now knows that the man that stands guard in front of Miss Smoak’s door, a thousand times fierce and unflinchingly loyal, is far more than that.

He’s her protector – her guardian.

Her family.

The intensity in Mr. Diggle’s eyes grows stronger as Lance takes in a long breath.

“Mr. Diggle,” he manages. “H-How, how is she?

If Lance had had any doubt about how much the small blonde meant to the tall man in front of him, the way that Diggle’s face crumbles as he inhales sharply lets him know exactly what’s real.

“Stable,” the larger man says, his voice firm and believable despite the worry etched on his face, and Lance lets out the breath that he’d been holding ever since he’d heard the nurse say Felicity’s name. “It was touch and go for a while. She, uh, – Felicity lost a lot of blood and,” Diggle’s voice cracks and he swallows hard before meeting Lance’s wide stare. “And her heart stopped a few times on the table but she’s okay – awake.”

_Her heart stopped a few times on the table._

Jesus.

Diggle nods then, more to himself than anyone else, and Lance understands that that’s all he’s going to get from the man on the subject.

“I know this isn’t the time, but we need a statement - ,”

John Diggle’s eyes harden again, and Lance holds up his hands in a placating gesture.

“Mr. Diggle,” Lance starts, voice thick with emotion. “The person who did this is still out there and we – _I_ – cannot just sit here and let our chances of gettin’ that bastard slip away. I – I care about Felicity – hell, I sometimes forget she’s not my daugh - ,”

Lance cuts himself off with a staggering huff, his gaze locked on Diggle’s as he presses his mouth in a firm line.

“I _just_ found out about this, Mr. Diggle. No one called me – no one notified me what had happened, which means that _no one_ is lookin’ into this – I mean _really_ lookin’ into this case with the priority it should have and that – that is _bullshit_ ,” Lance growls, his words tumbling out - cascading like a waterfall now that he’s finally let the dam burst. 

“And this is normally the type of stuff the Vigilante would scoop up,” Lance rambles on angrily. “ _Especially_ considerin’ who’s been hurt - ,”

Lance freezes, realizing he shouldn’t be outing Felicity’s assistance with Starling City’s Vigilante to just anyone, but the words Diggle mutters, almost too low for Lance to hear, has him thinking that maybe Mr. Diggle knows a lot more than he’s letting on.

_“The vigilante isn’t going to be in the field anytime soon.”_

Lance tilts his head at that, but Diggle just brings his gaze back up to the Detective and stares at him with hollow eyes.

He sighs.“I don’t know how much energy she’ll have to talk to you, Detective.”

“It’ll just be a few minutes, the second it’s too much, I’m gone.”

Diggle tightens his jaw, a tirade of conflicting emotions warring across his features before he lets out an uneasy sigh. He shakes his head wearily at the door before dropping back down in his seat, his eyes fixing straight ahead like the vigilant soldier Lance knows he is.

“Thank you,” the Detective nods.

Lance pauses again. He has half a mind to ask Mr. Diggle just where his employer is if he’s so resolute on insisting that Felicity is his friend but the way the broad man’s shoulders droop has Lance holding his tongue. 

After all, it’s not Queen’s bodyguard that he’s upset with.

Lance shakes his head, pressing gently on the door handle and pushing his way into the sterile room. The lights are dim and the steady beeping from the monitors fill the room with a haze of eerie white noise but then his eyes are falling towards the bed and his heart stops dead.

Because now he sees _exactly_ where Oliver Queen is.

Lance holds his breath, pressing his fist against his mouth as he allows his gaze to sweep around the room. Oliver’s mostly faced away from him, his broad back turned away from the door, but the part of his face that the Detective _can_ see is scruffy and worn with fatigue so deep that he’s not sure Oliver will ever be able to truly get rid of the dark purple bruises forming beneath his eyes. 

Lance sucks in a breath when he spots a red stained suit jacket draped over one of the chairs, a pair of carelessly toed off dress shoes piled near one of the legs. 

The older man blinks a few times before turning to face the bed again with a small frown.

Oliver is still in his slacks from work, his dress shirt rumbled and untucked and hair in completely disarray. 

He looks _terrible_ to put it simply - totally and utterly torn apart - but it’s the way that the large man has completely curled his body around Felicity Smoak that stops him from moving any closer. 

Felicity’s on her back, but just barely. She’s tilted as much as she can into Oliver’s arms without tugging at the IV and various wires that keep her hooked up to the beeping machines. Her right hand is smooshed between the two of them, curled into a tiny fist and clenched tightly around the material of Oliver’s shirt. 

Oliver’s lies on his side between Felicity and the door, his chest pressed flush against her shoulder. His large frame absolutely engulfs her petite one, making her look even smaller than she is, and she faces towards him, her nose pressed lightly against his neck. 

It’s as if Oliver’s wrapped himself entirely around Felicity like battle armour - as if he’s using his body as a shield. 

Lance pauses at that thought, his analytical gaze scanning over their carefully tangled limbs. The Detective takes in the way the younger man’s hand is folded around Felicity’s tiny one - how he’s pressed their interlocked fingers directly over her heart. 

He takes in the way Oliver’s legs bracket Felicity’s - how he has the back of her head cradled gently in his other arm, his fingers tangling through the strands of her hair as he tucks it securely beneath his chin. 

There is not one inch of Felicity Smoak that is not covered by Oliver’s body and Lance knows down to his very core that that’s _exactly_ what the younger man had intended to accomplish. 

A tiny bit of the agitation and resentment that Lance had felt towards Oliver for the past six years slips away with the shaky sigh that he lets fall past his lips. 

He moves a step closer and has to steady himself against a chair when he sees how _lifeless_ Felicity looks. His chest aches as he lets his eyes trace the delicate features on her pale face and he knows it’s stupid, he does, but when the vibrant smile he’d become accustomed to seeing flash across the IT expert’s face doesn’t appear, he feels like crying.

Felicity shifts slightly, pressing her face further into Oliver’s neck and his nose brushes lightly against the top of her head, her hair moving with every slight breath he takes. Oliver’s arm is banded tightly around her waist so protectively, defensively - so _tenderly -_ that it pulls at something in the Detective’s heart, and Lance watches as Oliver traces his thumb up and down the hand they have pressed against her chest.

Felicity moves again, a small moan of pain escaping her chest as she lets out a wragged cough. Oliver’s eyes are flashing open in an instant, worriedly scanning up and down the length of her body as she steadies her breathing. He leans towards her and presses his lips against her forehead, murmuring quiet words of comfort against her hair as his thumb resumes the steady up down motion along the back of her hand. 

She lets out a small puff of air, her body sagging against the mattress, before snuggling further into Oliver’s embrace. 

Lance can see the instant Oliver senses they’re not alone in the room anymore. 

His shoulders tense, his breathing stuttering to a stop, and before Lance can so much as blink, Oliver’s somehow managed to extract himself from Felicity’s hold without jostling her in the slightest, and the way he moves - silent and swift - pulls Lance’s breath away. 

Oliver lets out a low, threatening growl as he places himself firmly between Felicity and the intruder. 

His eyes flash venomously towards the Detective, the blue irises slowly darkening to a depthless black, and the slightly unhinged look that Lance sees directed at him has him taking a terrified step back. 

Oliver straightens to his full height, his chest puffed and heaving as he tightens his jaw, and the predatorial stance he takes is oddly familiar, pulling at the recesses of Lance’s mind _because he’s seen someone else stand just like this before_ , he knows it.

Lance stares at the man with wide eyes. He knows better than to try anything - he can see the desperation that tinges the edges of Oliver’s features as the younger man assesses the threat in the room - so he stands stock still until he sees Oliver’s face clear with recognition. 

He watches as Oliver’s expression softens, but even though the harsh edges leave his body, it isn’t until a small, pale hand is reaching out from behind him and grasping gently at his forearm.

“Oliver?” 

Felicity’s voice is so quiet and small and weak – a whisper just barely audible over the constant beeping filling the room, but Oliver’s reaction to her touch is instantaneous. His shoulders slump slightly as he sags into the blonde’s grasp, and Oliver must decide that Lance is not a threat because he turns away from him and crouches next to Felicity. 

The Detective stays where he is as Oliver leans in and whispers a few words to Felicity. She nods then, just barely, before her eyes are fluttering closed again. Oliver grazes his thumb against her cheek and watches her sleeping face with a tender expression akin to wonder before he reaches over her and tugs the blankets up to her chin. 

Lance watches in disbelief at the way Oliver fusses over Felicity - at how soft and gentle his motions are as he tucks the blanket around the edge of Felicity’s body where he had previously been pressed.

He’s watched Oliver grow up - watched him date and woo and even love his Laurel, but he’s _never_ seen an expression like _this_ on Queen’s face before. 

It scares him, just how open Oliver looks right now - just how wrecked the younger man seems to be. 

Lance frowns when Oliver’s face contorts with a thousand levels of pain but then he hears Felicity let out a small, strangled sob and it sends a hot flame of distress down his own spine.

“M’ _hurts_ ,” she whimpers, her breath hitching with each small sob. She squeezes her eyes shut, her face scrunching up into a world of hurt as her hand flies to her head, but Oliver’s right next to her in a second, his fingers pressing against her own where they grip at her forehead. 

He gently tugs her hands away to see what exactly is hurting her, tilting her head carefully towards him as he murmurs a few words to the blonde. He places his hand behind her neck and slowly lifts her head forward, pulling the pillow higher and adjusting it so it curves to support her neck. 

He settles her back against the bed, brushing his lips against her warm skin as the crinkle between her brow vanishes and a soft sigh of relief slips past her lips.

“Better?” Oliver whispers, his hand brushing away at the hair that had fallen into Felicity’s face.

Felicity just hums, and Lance’s chest aches at the tiny, heartbreaking smile Oliver tries to force onto his face as he stares down at the blonde. 

He watches her for a while, his eyes slipping from her face to the rise and fall of her chest to the steady numbers blinking up at him from the monitors near her bed. It takes a while, but Oliver finally turns to face Lance, and the Detective is shocked at just how haggard Oliver looks. 

“Detective,” the younger man rasps as he folds his arms tightly over his broad chest, not even trying to hide the fact that his eyes aren’t entirely dry. 

“Queen,” Lance manages out, but the tone of his voice lacks any of the malice that’s normally present. 

* * *

Lance doesn’t know how he’d managed to get Oliver to agree to him taking Felicity’s statement. (He thinks it’s likely the result of Felicity taking pity on him when she wakes up and asking Oliver if he could go and call her mother back). 

The younger man leaves the room reluctantly, phone clenched tightly in his fist, but he’s back within mere minutes. 

Lance is already sitting next to Felicity, asking her the odds and ends about what had happened, when Oliver slips back into the room. He silently makes his way to the seat on the other side of Felicity’s bed, his expression going eerily vacant as they dance over the suit jacket that he’d tossed in the trash.

Lance doesn’t miss the way Felicity’s hand moves subconsciously towards Oliver, nor the way Oliver weaves his fingers almost reverently through hers without question and clasps her delicate hand between his two rough ones.

Felicity continues to talk, slow and steady, her eyes darting from Lance to the pad of paper he’s holding to the window, and when she allows her eyes to drift towards the ceiling, Lance chances a glance at Oliver.

He’s staring blankly down at his and Felicity’s intertwined hands, eyes focused on the chipped green nail polish that glows brightly against her pale skin. His own thumb brushes lightly over the color, back and forth, and Lance sees the way Oliver’s hand tightens around Felicity’s as he takes a staggering breath. 

The Detective drag’s his eyes back up to Queen’s face, and for a moment he’s hit with how _young_ Oliver still is.

His eyes are rimmed with red and his cheeks are hollow and there’s a look in his expression that’s so _agonizing_ and it rattles Lance to his core.

Lance saw him when he had first come back from the island – had been part of the police escort sent to make sure he had gotten to the hospital without any press interference – and Oliver hadn’t looked _anywhere_ near the way he did now.

No, the expression he wears as he stares at Felicity’s hand is one that Lance has only seen painted on the faces of those with a thousand sins, and he can’t help but wonder what kind of hell Oliver had to go through to have such a haunted stare etched into his features. 

“And I – I thought that that was it, you know,” Felicity’s soft voice filters through the air, cutting through Lance’s train of thought, and the Detective shifts his focus back to the young woman. “But then the men in the masks were gone and _Oliver_ \- Oliver was there and – and I knew it’d all be okay. That _I’d_ be okay.”

Lance watches as Felicity tiredly turns her head to face Oliver, her thumb taking up the movement of smoothing comforting patterns against Oliver’s skin.

“And I am,” she finishes with an intensity that burns like fire in her eyes. Her words are loud enough for Lance to hear, but he knows that they are meant only for Oliver. “I’m _okay_ , Oliver. Because of you – because you were there, just like you promised.”

Oliver’s got his mouth pressed together so tightly that the skin around it turns pale, and his lower lip trembles when he finally looks up to meet Felicity’s gaze. 

A single tear falls from his eyes and he’s shaking his head with each stuttered breath that escapes his chest. 

“You shouldn’t have been in that position to begin with, F’licity,” he manages to grate out, his voice low and rough but insistent nonetheless. “But you were, because of _me_ and I -,”

Oliver’s breath catches, and Lance tilts his head in confusion. He knows he’s missing a lot of pieces to the story, but the pieces he does have are falling together in such a way that allows him to paint the picture in a very specific light.

A green light.

Felicity tugs her hand from Oliver’s grip and while it looks like the movement rips a hole in Oliver’s heart, he lets her go without resistance, and his eyes are filled with so much understanding and acceptance and Lance just _knows_ that Oliver believes that he deserves whatever rejection he’s building himself up to face.

The younger man’s chin drops towards his chest, his gaze falling to the floor, but then Felicity’s hand is right there, tugging his face up to meet her gaze and cupping his chin. 

Her thumb drags back and forth against the scruff lining his jaw as she stares at him thoughtfully.

She tilts her head to the side, then, the edge of her mouth tugging up just barely.

“Maybe we should start calling you Atlas,” she murmurs as her thumb brushes lightly over his lips, and Lance can tell that the two aren’t as aware of his presence as they’d probably like to be. “Always carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

Oliver huffs but refuses to meet Felicity’s gaze and Lance is frozen in place, half wanting to leave the room because this seems _intimate,_ and half believing that if he so much as moves an inch, the moment will pass

“ _Oliver,”_ Felicity pleads, and Oliver finally lifts his eyes to hers, another tear rolling down the edge of his cheek.

“You were never supposed to get hurt, Felicity,” he rasps, his throat far too tight for his voice to come out as anything louder than a faint whisper. 

“Me, Digg, even Lyla - we could handle it, we could understand that,” Oliver murmurs. “But you?”

He looks at her, then, really, truly looks at her, and his eyes darken as he furrows his eyebrows fiercely. 

“ _Never,”_ he whispers vehemently, his warm breath ghosting over Felicity’s thumb. “I promised myself that there was - that there was no world, no universe,” he swallows thickly, his voice cracking, “no-no past, present, or future where I let _any_ of this touch you, but I failed.” 

His voice trembles, thick with tears and years of guilt. 

“You got _hurt_ , Felicity, and I - ,”

“Did you shoot me?”

“No,” Oliver breathes out quickly. “But -, “

“No, Oliver,” Felicity shushes softly, her thumb pressing firmly against his lips when he tries to speak. “You didn’t shoot me - ,”

“But I couldn’t _protect_ you, Felicity, I _tried_ but it wasn’t – it didn’t - ,”

It’s then Lance lets his gaze brush the length of Oliver’s body - then he sees the hint of red stained gauze wrapped around his lower ribs just barely visible through the white of his dress shirt.

He knows then, without a doubt, that Oliver _did_ use his body as a shield - that he _had_ wrapped his entire being around the small blonde in a desperate attempt to take each bullet as his own.

He also knows that the man would do it _again_ and _again_ and _again_ , in a heartbeat, in a millisecond, in any lifetime and any universe, without so much as a second thought. 

It’s then Lance lets his mind drift to Sara, and it’s _so_ painful to think about her - it hurts more than any bullet or blade or bomb ever could - but he lets himself feel it, suppresses the ache in his chest to push past it, and he realizes, in that moment, that he had been entirely wrong about Oliver Queen.

Sure, Lance knows that Oliver has never cared about his daughter in the way that he cares about Felicity, but he _had_ loved Sara. 

And Oliver takes care of the people he loves. 

Where there was once only white hot fury and hatred towards the man in front of him, there’s now also a growing swell of gratitude simmering in his chest.

Because for the first time in forever, there’s absolutely no doubt in Quentin Lance’s mind that Oliver Queen wouldn’t have done anything less than _everything_ to keep his sweet Sara alive. 

To understand that Oliver had still lost her despite everything when he was just a kid himself - to see just how heavily Oliver wears the guilt of such failure and loss - ,

Lance shakes his head, swallowing hard as he realizes just how much of an ass he had been to Oliver. 

“You can’t keep everyone safe, Oliver,” Felicity’s soft murmurs draw Lance back to the presence once again and he bites against his tongue at Oliver’s harrowing expression.

“Maybe not,” he grits out, his breathing ragged. “But I should be able to protect _you._ ”

“My guilty hero,” Felicity whispers just under her breath, her finger coasting back and forth along Oliver’s jaw, and if Lance’s suspicion about exactly who is sitting in front of him weren’t solid, they are now. 

Felicity’s eyes dart back and forth between Oliver’s own, and he holds her stare just as intently. Oliver’s fingers reach up to grasp at the small hand she has palming at his face, and he holds it against his cheek, almost sagging into her touch as he turns and presses his lips against her palm. 

“I just - “ Oliver takes a deep breath, and Lance turns his gaze to the floor when a sharp sob rips from Oliver’s chest. 

“I’m so _sorry,_ ” he chokes out. 

Felicity’s face crumples at those words, and she’s tugging Oliver down against her. It’s a little awkward – he’s still sitting in the chair beside her bed and the height between them isn’t exactly even – but she somehow manages to cradle Oliver against her midsection. He winds his arms around her waist, holding as tight as he dares as his fingers fist the sheets that pool at her waist. Lance watches with a burning lump in his throat as the younger man’s shoulders start to shake from _years_ of pent up traumas and horrors and guilt.

Felicity’s nose is nestled against his hair, her lips dancing across his skin as she murmurs sweet nothings only meant for him to hear.

_I’m okay, Oliver._

_It’s not your fault. It could_ never _be your fault._

_Please don’t blame yourself._

_I’m okay._

_You’re okay._

_You saved me._

_You always have._

_You always will._

_I love you._

_I love you._

I love you _._

Lance glances down at the pad of paper in his lap. There’s more than a few missing details in the story Felicity had laid out for him, but he knows that’s about as much as he’ll be able to get today.

He stands slowly, his gaze softening as he watches Felicity run her hand up and down the span of Oliver’s back.

He allows himself a quick, affirming nod.

While Detective Lance realizes just how wrong he had been for hating Oliver Queen and wishing him dead, he _does_ know, with every fiber of his being, that he is right about one thing – ,

About this. 

He clears his throat.

Felicity turns to face him, her eyes widening in surprise when she realizes that Lance is still there.

Oliver’s not as startled as he tiredly tilts his head to the side, pressing his cheek carefully against Felicity’s chest, his bloodshot eyes not entirely focused when they find the Detective.

“You focus on gettin’ better, Sweetheart, alright?” he squeezes Felicity’s small hand in his own, affection flooding through his body when she pulls her lips into a sweet smile. “God knows a lot of people would fall apart without you, myself included, okay?”

Felicity nods, her throat tight when Lance leans in presses a quick kiss against her forehead.

The Detective makes his way all the way to the door before he rests his hand on the handle. He pauses, his eyes darting every which way around the room before meeting Oliver’s gaze with an eerily calm disposition.

“And when she’s outta here, Queen,” he says, voice fierce and determined despite the slight burn in his throat. “You put on that hood of yours and you help me take down those worthless sons o’ bitches. 

Oliver’s voice is quiet, scratchy, hoarse from the past few days.

But it’s also brash, bold. 

_Insistent._

“ _Yes, sir._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed, please please please consider making a donation/signing a petition/reading up on how to continue to keep the Black Lives Matter movement in motion!
> 
> * * *
> 
> Link to Part 1: [let it be me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22781575)


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